My Demon (8 page)

“Sure, Bec. Sounds fine, I’ll meet you in…” Alex checked the clock beside the bed. “Give me an hour and a half. I’m still in bed.”

“Oh I forgot. You went home early yesterday. Are you feeling better?”

“Much. Just needed some time to recover.”

“And a little bit of theatre sex?” Becky laughed, her voice still croaky and emotionally charged. “Look, I’ll catch you later, lazy bones.”

Alex hung up the phone and sat motionless for a moment, silent as she examined Clive. He had a magnetic attraction, something that drew her to him, despite all his manipulating. His eyes, they were the worst. The blue appeared multifaceted, light at the surface, but expansive the deeper she peered. She didn’t want to fall in.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

Clive laughed, got up from Alex’s bed and headed for her wardrobe. He opened the doors and fumbled about at the back of the top shelf. Alex stared open-mouthed as he pulled out an old wooden box. When she was little, Alex called it her magic box. On the front was a secret panel, when pushed to the side the lid opened. Alex had kept what she’d considered important things, mostly trinkets, inside. As Clive placed it on her dressing table, Alex tried to remember the last time she’d seen the box. Stumped, she shook her head, and craned her neck to see what the demon was up to.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Clive grappled with the box, searching for the secret panel. He was holding the box wrong, and Alex opened her mouth to say so when the top popped open and a pile of cash poured out.

“Huh. Look at that. You’ve got lots and lots of money hidden away.” He put the magic box back on the desk.

“No! I didn’t steal anything. You did this. You’re evil!” Alex felt her face heat up as she lost her temper. “Hell, you’re a demon. What else would you be?” She spat the words at him. “You’re the worst thing ever to happen to my life. Do you hear me?” she shrieked, and jumped out of bed, aiming a kick in the demon’s direction. Clive dodged easily, laughing at her anger.

“Hey, don’t blame me. You were stealing from The Closet long before I showed up, babydoll. Becky didn’t steal a penny.” He leaned forward and pointed at her. “It was all you.”

She grabbed three Stephen King books, and chucked them at him. Clive leapt around the room as she threatened another handful. His cat suit seemed to make him more agile. He moved like a dancer, flowing with ease past the missiles. “Mmm. There’s hate pouring from you. Tasty.” He licked his lips.

“I’ll give you tasty!” Alex snarled, and grabbed the duvet off the bed and tried to throw it over Clive. She figured if she caught him, she’d pummel him properly, like he deserved.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Alex released the duvet and froze.

“What in holy fuck is going on in there?” The door flew open. Lily staggered in from the hallway, blonde hair frizzed in an unruly halo surrounding her head, and what looked like a killer hangover. The enormous t-shirt she’d slept in hung off one shoulder, the bottom of the opposite side tucked into her undies. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and she had a green pallor that suggested she might pay a visit to the porcelain god after she finished shouting.

Alex gazed around her bedroom, cataloguing the chaos and destruction. The books at the back of her desk were mostly gone, they were now scattered all over the floor, some open, the spines broken. Her duvet had fallen off Clive and lay at her feet, fortunately covering most of the cash. A couple of bills poked out next to the bed. Lily squinted into the room. Hopefully she wasn’t able to focus yet.

“I…” Alex couldn’t think of what to say. Her mouth opened and closed, fishlike, as she tried to invent a suitable lie.

Clive crept up next to Alex. “Tell her someone broke in,” he whispered. “Tell her,” he said, louder this time, and grabbed her arm, his hand burning her flesh.

Alex shrugged off his grip and stamped her heel hard on the floor, connecting with Clive’s toes. His cat suit had soft built-in feet, with no apparent seams. As she had hoped, the fabric offered scarce protection.

“Fuck me!” Clive swore, jumping onto his other foot. “You stomped on me! You little bitch!” Even now, the stupid grin remained on his face.

Alex stared coldly at the demon, and waited for him to hop close enough. Seconds later, she leapt at him and landed on his other foot.

“You bastard!” Alex shrieked. She forgot about her mother and jumped hard on whichever foot he put down. Clive hopped past her bed, and limped towards the corner of the bedroom. The demon pressed up against the wall and searched for an escape route.

Alex followed him, a murderous sneer across her features. Clive suddenly smacked his forehead. “Duh! How stupid am I? I don’t have to take this.” Clive backed through the wall and in an instant was gone.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lily asked.

Alex closed her eyes as the wallpaper solidified around the demon. Shit, she thought. Forgot about her. Her mother’s voice was low, cautious. Even in a brain as alcohol-riddled as Lily’s, her behavior must appear odd.

“I’ve got pins and needles, Mum. That’s all.” Alex sat heavily on the edge of her bed. If she shouted her mother might go away. “I woke with killer pins and needles. Hurts like a bastard.”

Lily nodded, although the frown remained.

“I’m sorry for all the noise, Mum.”

Lily leaned against the doorjamb. She rubbed the sides of her head, and then squeezed the temples between her palms. “But Alexandra,” Her mother struggled, her voice thick, her speech sluggish. “You were jumping all around the room. It looked like you were trying to squish bugs or something.”

“The name is Alex, and first there aren’t any bugs in here. I’m way too clean for that.” Alex ignored the mess on her floor. Lily raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. “Secondly, I did have pins and needles.” Alex glared at her mother. Leave me alone, she thought. Go away and nurse your thumping head somewhere bloody else. “Everything’s fine.” Alex waited for Lily to turn around.

“What’s going on with you, Alexandra? You’ve been different recently, and I can’t quite figure out how.”

Lily rested the back of one of her hands on her forehead. She squinted into the dim light in Alex’s bedroom. On impulse, Alex leaned over her bed and pulled open her curtains, letting the late morning sunlight stream in.

Lily’s hand lowered to shade her eyes. “I want to help you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m growing up. You know, becoming an adult. Paying my bills. That’s what adults do. Isn’t it?” Alex said. A smile crept across her face. Like the one she hated so much on Clive. Maybe she was Clive. Clive was her. She was the guy in Fight Club, wrestling with herself. This is Alex’s stupid grin…

Lily raised her hand away from her eyes. Impossibly pale already, her face whitened even more. “What are you on about?” she asked.

“I’m just saying I understand the necessity of paying bills. Mother,” Alex said, her voice tight, controlled.

“Hang on, little lady. You are still my daughter, and you have absolutely no right to make such outlandish insinuations!” Lily shouted back, her tired face twisted with anger.

“If I’m your daughter, how come I put
you
to bed most nights?” Alex cried out.

“How dare you!” Lily shrieked. She strode up to Alex and slapped her hard.

A shocked silence fell over the bedroom as Lily and Alex faced each other, Alex holding her cheek where she’d been hit, and Lily covering her mouth with one hand.

Alex spoke first. “Don’t you have a client to fuck through the phone or something?”

Silence encompassed the room once again. Alex watched Lily’s face crumple and her tough-person stance collapse. Alex closed her eyes. Shit.

Alex sat for a long time in her room, not wanting to leave and risk bumping into Lily. How could she talk to her own mother that way? She may be a drunk—but she was still her mother. Alex hung her head, her shoulders slumped as she picked up the bank notes. Lily spoke some truth. Alex was changing. Scary alterations in her reactions, her thoughts—changes she couldn’t control. She had always reigned supreme in her little world. After Dad disappeared and Mum fell head first into a wine bottle, Alex had taken over. Slowly, with amazing patience, Alex molded everything to suit her. Lily hadn’t even realized, or if she had, she was too drunk to care.

Now Alex felt the control she’d earned over so many years crumble away. She’d offended her own mother in a terrible way, and she’d stolen enormous amounts of money while somehow setting up her best friend for the fall.

“Oh shit!” In half an hour Becky would be waiting for her in front of the Post Office. She pulled on some clothes, put a thick wad of notes in her pocket and stuffed the rest of the cash under her mattress. The room was a tip, but the money was hidden from any perfunctory glance her mother might care to perform. Alex slammed the door behind her and bolted for the stairs.

Alex wasn’t sure where Lily was, or even if she was still in the house. Alex made it down to the front door, but as she pulled down on the deadbolt, she slapped a hand to her forehead. The clerk at the post office would probably require paperwork for the payments.

Alex released the lock and opened the living room door a crack. She peeped inside. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. Ceramics cracked against each other; perhaps Lily was venting her anger on the dishes. Alex leaned further into the room and took a tentative step, her eyes jumping between the dresser and the open kitchen door. A plate or something crashed down onto the tiles, followed by a series of somewhat surprising swear words. From the sounds of it, Alex guessed about five minutes worth of clean-up was involved.

Taking her chances, Alex snuck thief-like past the sofa and to the dresser. She grabbed a handful of bills from the drawer, hoping she had the right ones. Seconds later Alex softly closed the front door, leaving her mother still swearing over the breakage.

Alex jogged to the bus stop. If she caught the bus, and speed walked from the high street to the Post Office, she might not be unforgivably late, just terribly late. She pulled her mobile from her pocket for the third time. The power indicator blinked down to one bar. The way her life was going right now, Alex figured she’d better save the battery for a 999 call.

She was gathering a sweat, or a shine as her nana might have put it. After all, ladies don’t perspire. Like I’m a lady, Alex thought. Perhaps she should have called Becky to cancel, and tried to make peace with her mother. But Lily would want to sit with her on the sofa, and engage her in a serious discussion about their argument. Hell, Alex had the money needed to keep a roof over their heads, and the electricity going.

Alex quickened her pace, breathing quickly now, as she tried to leave the seesawing action of her brain behind. The bus stop came into view as she rounded the end of her street. For a moment she fought with an overgrown hedge that tangoed with her every time she walked this way, and as she emerged, a smell of strawberries, ripe and red filled her nostrils.

The scent transported Alex back to Wimbledon earlier that year. Her mother had gone strawberry picking and come home with an entire crate of strawberries and about a gallon of double cream. She was having a good week, not too much wine poisoning her tongue, and Alex suspected the offer of strawberries and cream was a wordless apology. The two of them watched hours of tennis eating overflowing bowlfuls until their tummies ached, all the while shouting at the telly as if they were the experts. Then the strawberries grew little grey beards and had to be thrown in the bin, but not before they filled the house with their pungent aroma.

“No, don’t appear,” she said. The sweet scent told her Clive was on his way. “Don’t need you. Don’t want you. Don’t need you. Don’t want you,” she repeated the words, as if that might be enough to make the demon stay away.

Old Mr. Duggan, from Number Seventeen, walked towards Alex. He smiled and tipped his hat. Alex scowled, her teeth clenched, muttering her mantra, and ignoring her neighbor. She hardly noticed when Mr. Duggan stopped, his walking stick hung in mid-air as he followed her with his eyes. He frowned, his expression worried, then the end of his stick connected with the pavement, and he passed by.

Clive appeared behind her. He kept pace with Alex, listening to her chants, no doubt a gloating smile across his face. “You haven’t any control over when and how I appear or disappear. Why waste your breath?” Clive asked.